Chapter 4

Avery's POV

A month later, New York's annual Medical Charity Gala was held at the Intercontinental Hotel.

This was the highest-profile event in the medical community. To completely clear Celeste's name, Ethan not only heavily sponsored the entire gala but also specifically established an "Annual Medical Miracle Award" to present to Celeste.

And the order he gave me was: as the representative of the "patient's family," I had to personally go on stage to present the award to Celeste.

In the dressing room, I looked at myself in the mirror, weighing only seventy pounds, and coldly refused. "I won't go. Just kill me."

Ethan stood behind me, dressed in a perfectly tailored black designer suit. He didn't get angry; he simply pulled out a tablet and opened a live surveillance feed.

On the screen, my mother lay in her hospital bed, a stranger in a white coat standing by her ventilator, holding a power plug.

"Avery, I don't want to force you." Ethan's long fingers gently caressed my cheek, his voice as soft as if he were whispering sweet nothings.

"But Celeste needs this award to rebuild her confidence. Just go on stage, hand her the trophy, and smile. If you do that, your mother's ventilator won't be unplugged."

I stiffened all over, my stomach churning with nausea.

I looked at the devilish man in the mirror, bit through my lip, tasting the strong metallic tang of blood.

"Fine, I'll present her the award."

The gala venue was opulently decorated.

When the host announced me as the award presenter, the hall instantly fell silent. Everyone's gaze, filled with curiosity, mockery, and pity, pierced through me.

Who didn't know that Ethan's wife was now just a decoration, a wife in name only?

Mr. Thorne had nearly driven his own wife's mother to her death for his mistress, and now he was making his wife present an award to that mistress. This was truly trampling her dignity underfoot.

I wore an extremely simple black gown, as if in mourning for someone. I walked onto the stage step by step, each one feeling like I was walking on knife blades.

Celeste, wearing the starry-night gown Ethan had paid a high price for, stood confidently in the center of the stage.

I took the trophy from the usher and walked up to Celeste.

"Congratulations, Dr. Dubois," my voice, amplified by the microphone, filled the room, utterly devoid of emotion.

Celeste took the trophy, and as she embraced me, she whispered with a light laugh, in a voice only we two could hear, "Avery, look, if I want something, Ethan will crush your dignity and offer it to me. What do you have to fight me with?"

I didn't push her away; I just looked into the void ahead with my dead eyes and replied softly, "Yes, you won. This trophy is stained with my mom's blood. Hold it tight, don't have nightmares."

Celeste's face subtly changed, but she quickly recovered her delicate, pitiful smile and delivered her acceptance speech to the audience, especially thanking Ethan for his companionship during her "lowest point."

Applause erupted from the crowd. After the award ceremony, I rushed backstage to the restroom and vomited furiously into the sink until only bitter bile came up.

It was Ethan who handed me a tissue.

He frowned, looking at my pathetic state. "Is it necessary to look so utterly devastated just for presenting an award? Celeste has been very generous about forgiving Dylan's actions, what more do you want?"

I didn't take the tissue. I straightened up, turned on the faucet, and splashed water on my face, droplets running down my cheeks.

I turned to look at Ethan.

"Ethan, I truly regret not dying in that car accident seven years ago, instead of being saved by you."

Ethan reached for my hand, but I had already turned and walked out of the restroom without looking back.